Purim and Lent

Full disclosure: I'm a gentile. And though I do have some Cherokee blood in me and there are contested reports of the Cherokee people celebrating Jewish holidays, I have never officially attended a synagogue or Shabbat dinner. Truth be told, I just misspelled synagogue on my first attempt (thanks spell check). That said, I am fascinated by the Jewish culture and faith. I've watched Rosh Hashanah services on Shalom TV, began learning Hebrew, and even secretly fasted last Yom Kippor. I imagined my fellow Christians would ask me why I'm doing this. And I've yet to come up with an answer - only that it feels right. Perhaps, no one cares one way or the other. My lovely 93 year old great aunt asked me if I was becoming Jewish when she heard I'd been drawn to the Hebrew language. She asked matter-of-factly. I suppose after 93 years, it's anything goes.

So, my dear readers, of which I believe there are none if you don't count my brother who occasionally peeks in from time to time (hey bro!), I'm outing myself as...well, I don't know exactly. Let's just say I feel free to share my passions here. One of those passions being the study of Judaism as well as Christianity's Jewish origins.

Lent is in full force as we count down to Purim this Saturday. The two holidays seem on the surface to be worlds apart. Purim is a festival that more closely resembles Mardi Gras than Lent - full of costumes, pastries, and lots of wine. Lent is rather a somber occasion in which participants give up something for forty days and partake in introspection. During Lent, one does without some worldly luxury and surely does not stuff themselves with sweets and wine while donning costumes.

However, there is a tie that bonds the two holidays: Deliverance. Purim celebrates Queen Esther saving the Jews from extermination by bravely speaking up and, thus, defeating the evil Haman. Lent, on the other hand, seeks to remind one of the preparation of Christ leading up to his crucifixion where he would deliver us from our sins.

The intricate story of Purim depends on a series of so-called coincidences that led Esther to be in the right place at the right time to save her people. Therefor, it is also a celebration of how God works behind the scenes, how God is hidden in everything. Jesus, too, had a road to the cross full of "chance" happenings. Of course, these were not accidents at all. It was destined. God is hidden in plain sight, at all times.

This Lent, I've chosen to give up several food groups that are bad for me, stop posting on facebook, and greatly limiting my daily TV time. I'm amazed how easy it is to pass up chocolate cake right now and disheartened when I sneak in some extra couch time in front of the tube. I'm not perfect, that's for sure. I do believe there is a great freedom in discipline. Which brings me right back to deliverance: the act of being rescued from domination, bondage or danger. While a carton of ice cream may seem a silly vice to be rescued from, Lent is showing me every day how I've leaned on a food or fictional show for a peace I need to find in myself.

I'm still not sure if and how I'll celebrate Purim. I never gave up wine...

Peace and Chag Purim Sameach!

In Response to Sandy Hook

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

     The horrible events of this past week occurred during Chanukah and during advent, leading up to Christmas. Chanukah is the festival of lights and miracles. It is the holiday of rededication after war. Every menorah lit during this time is a sign that says “I will let my light shine. You did not win.” It is a light of identity.

     Christmas is the day we Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus, when the light of Christ came into the world. We adorn our homes inside and out with lights, be they white, multicolored, flashing or still. It is a time of love and peace and miracles.

     And, what could be more miraculous than a child? Children are the bright hope of the world.  Someone tried to snuff out that light. Someone’s personal darkness was so all-encompassing that he was unable to feel the warmth, to see the light that shone from menorah candles in windows, from strings of bulbs lining roofs, from the eyes of children and those who fought to save them. While my first reaction was one of visceral anger at the attacker, I now choose to light a candle and remember those lost, remember love, remember only good can ever make real, lasting change.

     And, most of all say, “I will let my light shine. You did not win.”

Peace, love, and prayers to all those who lost a loved one or were in any way affected by the tragic attack.    

Say Something! (Writing about writer's block)

What do you write when you have nothing to say? When you want to write, driven to connect to a reader who will clutch your book to her chest amazed by your artistry; how you put her feelings – no! the thoughts and feelings of the whole human condition! – into such succinct truth no one else has expressed? Perhaps you are reaching too high. Perhaps your reader mid-flight will, instead, get to chapter four in your book before stuffing it in the seatback pocket in front of her – right between the vomit bag and the Skymall. Perhaps she will take a break from your highfaluting artistry, retrieving the catalogue to check the price of the self-flushing litter box she saw advertised during her connecting flight and in her haste to exit the plane, leave your book behind. Maybe she will walk to baggage claim with that “I-know-I’m-forgetting-something-but-what?” feeling, only to shrug her shoulders while ducking into the Cinnabon. Well, fine. You don’t need her. Maybe she’s not even your target demographic. Maybe you prefer your readers cat-less.

But, you still don’t have anything to say. Nothing to be left behind beside the puke bag.

Fighting Perfection

Hello, my name is Melissa and I am a perfectionist. (hello, Melissa)

When asked in an interview “what is your biggest weakness” I often counter by admitting my perfectionist nature. It is suppose to be a sly way of turning a negative into a positive. Honestly, though, I have come to learn perfectionism is a negative, plain and simple – a stress-inducing, frustrating way to go through life. Nothing is perfect. Nothing. And, if one perceives something as perfect it is only that one chooses not to focus on the flaws. Perceiving something as perfect is possible. This is a state of mind.

There is a difference between seeking excellence and achieving perfection: only one is possible, the other is a futile pursuit.

My new motto is ‘do your best and forget the rest’. A challenge for sure for someone who naturally scans the world for how it could or should be. I’m all for making the world a better place. I believe I have a better shot at this goal if I find value in the quirks and flaws in others, the world at large, and myself.

Perfection is boring.

So, let me give an honest answer to that interview question. My greatest weaknesses are (in no particular order) I’m overly talkative, sensitive, overly-contemplative, occasionally lazy, stubborn…. I suspect the list could go on, but I’ll stop there. Whew! That feels better.

Photos

This collage is evidence of one of my favorite pastimes; editing photos. I enjoy the fleeting moment that is captured that, try as one might, can't be recreated exactly. I also, perhaps equally so, love editing photos. You get to take this raw material and polish it up, give it mood that may not have existed before, tell a new story, or highlight the story that is already being told.

Micro Memories - Homecoming

When my mom returned to my grandparents’ house after work I met her in the dining room and embraced her. My head rested on her stomach. She smelled strongly of perfume and faintly of nicotine. Her parents didn’t like her to smoke. She smelled like home. I stepped back and adjusted her skirt. She wore it high-waisted, belted just below her bra. I pulled her wide band, elastic belt down as I said, “That’s not your waist! This is your waist!” She always let me. She always left it that way the rest of the evening.

Downward Facing Ego

Yoga class is no place for competitive drive. In fact, it’s rather frowned upon by yogis. My ego didn’t get the memo. So, I pushed past my limits and entered pure pain, holding downward facing dog long past my physical abilities and right into excruciation. Still, I felt good at the end of the class. Then my friend and fellow yoga novice asked me what was in my eye. I looked in the mirror. Blood. It was blood. I’d burst blood vessels in my eye from my sheer stubborn competitive will to deny my newbie status, to avoid embarrassing myself by falling mid sun salutation. Instead, I walked out of the studio breathing in wellness while looking like a drug addict.

Namaste.